


Between Our Palms

by reynkout



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Affection, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Boys In Love, Boys Kissing, Established Relationship, Gift Fic, Handholding, Kissing, Love Letters, M/M, Public Display of Affection, Sheith Spring Flower Exchange
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-30
Updated: 2017-04-30
Packaged: 2018-10-25 14:43:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,946
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10766373
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/reynkout/pseuds/reynkout
Summary: Keith hates Iverson's history class. Either everyone sleeps through it, or they're bored as all get out... except it's one of the times both Shiro and Keith can sit in the vicinity of each other at school. From passing notes to sitting next to each other, to even holding hands; both boyfriends find ways to love each other discreetly.Gift exchange fic for Akira (flufflyneko)!





	Between Our Palms

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Sheith Flower Exchange!  
> I got super excited to do this early on- I've been so busy busting my ass at work, but I'm so happy to get this done. Enjoy my third fic in the Voltron community.

No one, absolutely no one, likes Iverson’s history class. However, history, in itself, is not a bad a thing. It is engraved into the crust of the earth, ingrained into people’s minds so that they may pass on their lives’, and their ancestors’ lives, events through word of mouth and literature. It's been made a constant thing in life, either to refer back to, or to look upon and learn from. But history, for the sophomores in group A, is always the last lecture of the day before the students are free from the tortures of school. And it is _absolutely_ not a class anyone can recommend.

Keith has always found Iverson’s lessons to be too cut-throat and dry for his liking. And, apparently, so does everyone else in the group. Either his classmates are sleeping with eyes open, nodding to music through their earbuds hidden strategically behind their hair, or passing notes to keep each other awake and entertained… much like Keith is doing now with Shiro, who sits diagonally in front of him.

At the beginning of the hour Shiro had handed him a blue-lined piece of looseleaf paper, all the while keeping his eyes fixed on their instructor. It’s an act, a facade, and Keith knows it, but Iverson doesn’t seem to realize that Shiro isn’t the perfect student he comes off to be. Keith once told Shiro he was being a “goody two shoes”; Shiro had laughed and replied, saying that he’d rather be known as a golden boy rather than just some jock on the football team.

Unfolding the note carefully, as to not make any paper-crumpling noises that might draw Iverson’s attention toward him, Keith skims over a particularly suggestive comment Shiro has written. He lets out a breath he doesn’t know he’s been holding, willing his face _not_ to turn a cherry red color because, ah, Shiro, though he may seem cordial and sweet, is actually a playful devil in his true form.

 **Save it for when we get to your place** , he writes in messy, scrawled out letters. His mind is already going rampant with scenarios of what might happen after school. He ignores the hot, pulsing feeling in his chest, right where his heart is located, though, instead folding the paper back up when he is done, then taps Shiro’s _very_ nice back when Iverson is not looking in their direction.

Shiro takes the note.

Keith swears he can hear a snicker in Shiro’s fake cough to supposedly clear his throat. Then, he scribbles what he has to say quickly. Keith gets the note back in less than a minute.

 ** _Hmm, fair enough._** Keith fights the urge to roll his eyes. **_I heard Iverson is going to play a documentary for the remainder of the hour after this spiel. Can I sit by you?_**

Keith glances at the empty desk next to his right, then puts his pen down on the paper. He’s suddenly thankful that Hunk, the lone freshman in history class with group A, left early for the school’s spelling bee competition. Keith admires Hunk for being so smart, even taking next-level classes so he can get ahead.  
**Sure. Just don’t get caught. Where did you hear that from, anyway?**

**_Lance from group B told me._ **

**Group B has Iverson’s? I thought they were with Holt.** Poor group B, Keith thinks, but he can’t really bring himself to be sorry for them. They are, technically, in the same boat.

 ** _They have him first thing in the morning._** comes Shiro’s response. **_Man, it must really suck for them._**

Keith doesn’t really know what’s worse- history class with Iverson the last period of the day, or the first. In both ways, it still sucks through and through.

As if on queue, Iverson stops his drone-on speech about the first landing on the moon. Keith freezes, clutching the note paper he’s been exchanging with Shiro in his fist, hoping not to get caught. If he did, that would mean detention for both of them, and he doesn’t want to cause any trouble for Shiro, if not for himself. Detention would surely cut into their… more exciting times in Shiro’s nifty treehouse after school hours.

“Pay attention to the dates listed in the video. They will be on the test. Fail to memorize them, and you’ll be guaranteed to flunk the final exam as well.” is all the instructor says before he has one of Keith and Shiro’s classmates turn off the room’s lights. The video starts shortly after, projecting onto the pull-down screen in grainy low quality.

It begins with cheesy, static-filled symphony music from what sounds like a genre from decades ago. The documentary is filmed in all black-and-white, as if to match the actual footage shown on an outdated TV so many years ago. They’re only a few seconds in, and it’s already just as bad as anyone could have (not) hoped. Keith and Shiro, however, seem to be unphased by it all.

“Psst.” When Keith looks in Shiro’s direction, he is already moving into Hunk’s empty seat. He lifts it with his bare hands while keeping his head low, as not to get caught, situating himself closer to Keith until they’re touching thighs. Only then does Shiro put the desk down, sitting comfortably next to Keith.

Keith scans the room, but no one looks like they are paying any attention to Shiro or Keith moving towards each other. He thanks the universe for that, because he doesn’t need any peeping toms watching them when they should really be watching the movie. 

Keith shivers when Shiro whispers in his ear, “Can I hold your hand?” It’s simple, innocent even, yet Keith feels his temperature spike when he hears Shiro’s request.

“Yes,” he breathes back, his right hand going from closed fist to open palm in a split second.

Their fingers slot perfect against one another, palms kissing intimately as they put their hands together. Keith has always found Shiro’s hands to be warm, and it is no different now. Shiro is a human heater that can warm Keith up in a matter of minutes. It feels so good, so right, and Keith sometimes likes to think he is the luckiest boy to ever have such a perfect boyfriend.

He doesn’t know he’s rested his head on Shiro’s shoulder until the rocket launches from its pad in the documentary. The roar of sound coming from it makes Keith flinch, but Shiro is _right there_ , already soothing him with soft, sweet nothings murmured so quietly only they can hear it.

“Can I touch you?” Shiro asks, and Keith nods almost immediately. His pulse is heightening, heart pumping in his throat.

“You’re doing that right now, aren’t you?” Keith quips back, but there is no malice behind his words.

“Hmm,” Shiro’s warm hand unravels from their embrace, traveling slowly but surely up Keith’s arm as he hums shortly.

Keith can feel the goosebumps rise on his bare skin, as he’s wearing a short-sleeved t-shirt today. It’s black, just like the rest of his attire, minus the red jacket, which hangs on the back of his seat. Shiro lands to cup the back of his neck, deft fingers massaging Keith’s naturally tense muscles there. The touch is gentle, comforting, relaxing, and it gets Keith to melt into his boyfriend’s administrations.

He turns his head to look up at Shiro then, studying how his cheekbones are set high, his skin a shade that compliments Keith’s own almost perfectly. Eyelashes that grow straight, dark and full along Shiro’s lashline to frame caring eyes that wear the color of steel. Shiro’s lips are slightly plush, but Keith knows that they’re as soft as candy floss when he kisses them.

They’re closing the distance between each other; Keith can feel the puffs of air coming from Shiro’s nostrils on his face. He wants to kiss Shiro, just as much as Shiro wants to kiss him. When their eyes connect, it is like a rod of lightning shoots through their bodies, sizzling every nerve, the popping and fizzing bringing an itch to egg on the process of kissing; to relief that itch and soothe their nerves, the feeling they both have for each other.

Now is the time to pop the question.

“Can I kiss you?”

They're not sure who said it first, but Keith is shifting in his seat to seal his mouth against Shiro’s, history class and Iverson and potential onlookers be damned. When Keith wants Shiro, he will do anything to have him.

The kiss is chaste, so sweet and tasting of Skittles that Keith thinks Shiro must have planned for this ahead of time, except _he_ , Keith, was the one who initiated this. Heat that once burned where his heart is now blooms throughout his entire body, coursing through his veins at a rapid speed. A low rumble collects in the base of his throat, but Keith swallows it down, knowing that now is no time to get vocal, though he greatly appreciates when Shiro swipes his daring tongue across Keith’s lower lip, as if pleading, ever so softly, for permission. Keith grants it, opening his mouth to greet Shiro’s tongue with his.

It’s like a game of cat and mouse, always chasing, meeting, mingling with one another until someone runs out of breath. Keith, unfortunately, is always the one to break the kiss first, face aflame with heart racing. 

“Wow,” he rasps, and he hears one of his classmates shush him.

“Yeah, wow.” Shiro agrees, but he's already leaning in for more.

It feels a little weird having both their noses squished against each other, but Shiro angles his face so it's not so uncomfortable anymore. Keith groans quietly, hand finding its way on Shiro's bicep, squeezing as they pull one another in until Shiro is almost hunching over Keith. 

They fight for dominance, their eyes closing completely to relish in the heat, the texture, the feel of kissing. Colors blossom before Keith’s vision; the bright yellows of honeysuckles, for which he is delighted to see. Vibrant blue, like the Texas bluebonnets he used to see growing in the patches of untouched land near Shiro's house. Bright sparks of whites that his mind only provides in relation to lilies… Lily of the Valley. Shiro's bathroom always smells like this, most likely due to the wallflower plug-in diffuser that Shiro's parents like to get. Everything reminds him of Shiro, but he cannot say he is ashamed of that fact.

In the background, Keith can hear the narrator describe how Neil Armstrong and crew bounce on the surface of the moon, claiming it with their flag, and watching it wave ever so slightly in the absence of a breeze. Keith and Shiro know they should be paying attention to the documentary, but they can't seem to stop their lips from fusing together, over and over again…

Until the shrill sound of the bell breaks the spell, and the classroom lights flip back on a second after Keith and Shiro rip away from one another, rushing to collect their belongings before booking it the hell out of Iverson's class. Shiro barely has time to wave goodbye to his teacher, as Keith is already hauling his ass out the door.

“Eager much?” Shiro is smiling while Keith puts on his usual pout.

“Save it for when we get to your place.” is all Shiro gets before they are racing down the pavement.

They're panting, kicking off shoes and melding lips by the time they're in Shiro's treehouse. Now Shiro doesn't have to save anything anymore, as long as he’s got Keith between his palms.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you liked it!  
> Please, let me know how I did; a comment or kudo is majorly appreciated. <3
> 
> Until then.


End file.
